Without You
by UndergroundValentine
Summary: The mind churns, the heart yearns, the tears dry without you. Life goes on but I'm gone cause I'd die without you... -Warning: Mature read; drugs -- Adommy-


**Without you the ground thaws, the rain falls, the grass grows**

Tommy glances over at the bathroom door again. Still shut tight, nothing to worry about right now. He's fine. Yeah. Couple of shakes, but that's cause his body is going nuts. His legs shaking lightly, Tommy sits down on the toilet seat, reaching down behind the trash can and grabbing a few items. A lighter, a spoon, a bag of powder, a strip of latex, and a needle. Yes. Thank God, it's still all here. Thank God Almighty that it hasn't been found. He smiles to himself, setting the needle and the lighter aside for a moment.

He drapes the latex over his thigh and carefully opens the baggie, easing the powder into the curve of the spoon. He's a master of this, Tommy is. He smiles when he gets every particle of his fix into the spoon, and he drops the empty bag into the trash can. He reaches up and grabs the lighter off of the counter of the sink. He flicks it once, twice, before getting it to hold. He smiles, holding it under the spoon and melting the smack. He stares at the heated metal, watching the powder turned to a jelly like substance, just shy of watery liquid.

**Without you the seeds root, the flowers bloom, the children play**

"_Dude, you gotta try this shit." Tommy looks over to his baby, Mark. Good looking son of a bitch, but a major junkie. Tommy loves him though, he's funny, knows what he wants in life. Mark's holding a needle between his fingers, his greasy red hair hanging over his eyes. Tommy frowns at the needle, an eyebrow raising in curiosity and confusion pooling in his chocolaty brown eyes. _

"_What is it?" Tommy asks, reaching up and taking the needle. Mark grins ear to ear, his eyes swimming as he takes a thin strip of latex and wraps it around Tommy's upper arm, a little too tight for the blonde's comfort. He ties it, taking the needle from Tommy's grasp and leaning in close to the taller but younger boy._

"_What do you think it is, baby?" Mark plants a sloppy, wet kiss on Tommy's cheek. "It's the shit man. Makes you feel good." Mark's breath smells like beer, and he pricks a pulsing, blue vein in Tommy's arm, slamming the glistening, gold liquid into Tommy's blood. _

**The stars gleam, the poets dream, the eagles fly without you**

Despite the fact that he does this on a consistent basis, he hates lying to Adam. He hates having to pretend like he's not a junkie, scraping out chunks of his payment for smack. He hates having to hide the empty bags and used needles consistently. He keeps them clean, he makes sure he doesn't get any diseases or major illnesses. He's keeping himself safe to the best of his ability. He has to. Not just for his sake, but for Adam's too. He loves Adam. He does. He can't risk hurting his baby.

He stares at the melting drug in his hands. He knows better than this. He knows that he needs to stop. Monte's busted him once, threatened to tell Adam about it too. Tommy begged him; he told the guitarist that he would stop. That he would get help, but he begged Monte not to say anything to Adam. Monte said fine. He promised Tommy.

**The Earth turns, the sun burns, but I die without you**

Perfect. Tommy releases the lighter and places it back onto the sink. Snatching up the needle, he sticks the point into the gooey, golden mess. He lifts the plunger up, sucking the smack into the needle. He's shaking from excitement at the idea of getting better. His sickness is eating at his mind and he needs to feel better again. Tommy shifts, gently placing the needle on the sink and dropping the spoon into the trash. He reaches over and rips off some toilet paper, wadding it up and placing chunks over the spoon. This is Adam's place too. He'll take out the trash when he's done.

Grabbing the latex, Tommy ties it tightly around the curve of his upper arm, the veins swelling and lifting to the surface. His breathing is irregular. His heart is pounding in his chest. He gasps for air, fumbling and curling his fingers around the needle. He's shaking all over and sweat is forming in the roots of his hair. He shakily places the tip of the needle to his skin, but he's not quite puncturing the skin. Something's holding him back.

**Without you the girl smiles, the breeze warms, the clouds move**

_Tommy's out with Mark tonight, checking the scenes of a couple of local clubs. Tommy can feel the weight of the bag in his back pocket, but it doesn't have anything more than an ounce. A meager ounce, but it's all Mark gave him for tonight. He has to use it well. He walks side by side with his lover, and as much as he would like to hold his baby's hand, he can't. They're just two eighteen year olds walking down a busy street of Costa Mesa, California. Some people don't take too kindly to gay love._

_Fuck them._

"_What are we hitting first?" Tommy asks, glancing over at his redheaded baby. Mark grins, glancing over at him through his shades._

"_Well, we're just stopping by an old friend's house. You probably remember him, don't you? Drake LaBry?" Mark says, leaning in close to Tommy's ear. Oh, Tommy remembers Drake, he remembers that man very well._

**Without you the tides change, the boys run, the oceans crash**

"_Mark! Fuck it's been a while since I saw you, fucker." Drake says with a smile, giving Mark a bear-like hug, glancing at Tommy from over the redhead's shoulder. His brown eyes narrow and his smile stretches wider, almost seductive._

"_And Thomas Joe Ratliff. Man, have I heard stories about you, but never really had the pleasure of meeting." _

"_Tommy, please. I've been around with Mark, but no, we've never formally met." Tommy says politely, shaking Drake's hand. Firm, strong grip. Tommy can see the puncture scars in Drake's arms. _

_Drake LaBry is one of the most well known and most sought after drug dealer in the city. Tommy remembers him because he used to tag along with Mark whenever his baby was getting his fix. Drake is a decent enough man, good looking and funny. He seems a little too snooty for Tommy's kind of attraction; too full of himself. But when he's high, he really doesn't give a flying fuck. Drake looks like God when he's on his rush._

**The crowds roar, the days soar, the babies cry without you**

Tommy stares hard at the needle, before setting it back up on the sink. He can't take it just yet. Sometimes, like now, he has to prepare himself for it all. He's just gotta take a step back and tell himself over and over that he'll feel a fuck lot better when he takes it. But sometimes, like now, he just freezes up.

**The moon glows, the river flows, but I'd die without you**

_Tommy freezes in the bedroom, his heart pounding and his head swimming. No, no that's… God, fuck, no… Tears well and spill from his eyes and he cries out, making the two men stop in their act of fucking._

"_You lying, cheating, fucking whore!" Tommy screams, grabbing a nearby lamp and hurling it at the redhead. Mark ducks it, just barely, before staring wide eyed at Tommy. More tears are falling down the blonde's face. He can't… No… No!_

"_Baby, shh, baby calm down." Mark says, stumbling over and grabbing Tommy's face in his hands. Drake shuffles, grabbing at items from a small bag, a shoddy blanket draped around his hips. Tommy slaps at Mark, trying to shove the redhead away. _

"_You're a fucking whore!" Tommy screams again, and Mark places a hand over his mouth._

"_Baby, you're sick. Drake's gonna fix you up, you'll be fine. You'll get better." He whispers to Tommy, trying to keep the struggling blond calm. "Drake, hurry up." Mark hisses over his shoulder and Tommy falls to his knees, sobbing. His head is hurting and he's shaking all over. He wants to vomit, fuck he wants to— ugh._

"_Here." Drake says, wrapping latex around Tommy's arm and plunging a needle deep into his swelled vein. _

**The world revives, colors renew, but I know blue, only blue**

_Tommy leaves shortly after that night. He leaves because, despite being high just after, he still remembers Mark cheating on him with Drake. And he doesn't want to deal with that. Instead, he packs his bags and he leaves, taking Mark's car because it's not like the fucking douche ever uses it really. He takes it, along with Drake's loaded stash that he brought, and he drives for a long while, stopping for food and gas only when it's absolutely necessary. _

_He drives until he reaches Los Angeles. He's heard great things about this place. He wants to make a better life for himself. He wants to clean up, but he glances at the bag on the seat beside him, and he takes a long, quivering breath. He can sure as fuck try, but he's not sure of the outcome. Right now, he needs a fucking place to stay first of all. He needs somewhere to live before he can even think about the rest of the shit he's in…_

**Lonely blue, willingly blue, without you**

_He cleans up after a few years, gets his own place in an apartment and works at a nearby antique shop. He stills gets the chills and sweats, but he doesn't vomit anymore. The cravings are tolerable. He's got a better fucking life now. True, he smokes and drinks, but who doesn't in this society? He's twenty four years old and he's pretty much forgotten about Mark and Drake. He doesn't think about that old life and he jams on his bass guitar for tips at bars or on the streets in the park. He likes it. Makes him feel free._

_It's also how he meets Adam Lambert._

_He gets a call from his boss saying he knows a guy who's in a band looking for a bassist. He gets the directions, grabs his shit and goes. He drives and drives to the location and pulls up into the lot. He prepares himself, thinking of a tune. He plays enough to know everything he's ever done by heart. That's how devoted he is. He knows that by playing, he'll be rewarded._

**Without you the hand gropes, the ears hear, the pulse beats**

_Tommy's at a party with some old friends. He's dancing and drinking the night away when he bumps into someone awfully familiar. Redhead that's a little on the greasy side and a delight, sinful smirk that makes Tommy melt into the soles of his shoes. No way. No fucking way. He couldn't have found Tommy after all these years; six to be exact. He couldn't have, unless he followed Tommy. And Tommy's pretty convinced of many things right now, but he doesn't want to believe that Mark is standing in front of him right now._

"_Hey there, baby." Mark says with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. Tommy takes a subtle step back._

"_Hey." He replies. Mark shifts his weight, his eyes never leaving Tommy's face._

"_What are you doing here?" Marks asks just over the music, crossing his arms over his chest. Tommy shuffles nervously. There's something not right about this. The music is a little too loud. The lights are a little too dim. Fuck, fuck, fuck._

"_Just… hanging out with some friends, you know?" That's when he feels it. The familiar prick, but not in the same spot. It's in the curve of his bicep, and he yelps softly, trying to pull away. But it's not enough. He whips his head around and sees Drake, holding an emptied needle._

"_No—" Tommy says, swinging at Drake. "I was clean! How could you!" He turns to Mark, who pins him against a wall, sneering close to his face._

"_No one jacks from us and gets away from it." _

**Without you the eyes gaze, the legs walk, the lungs breathe**

_He can't help it now. The dosage had been bigger than what he'd done before, and it caught him instantly. Once a week he gets supplies from Mark without Adam or anyone knowing. He doesn't want it, but the shakes, the chills, the sickness is so bad he just can't help it. And he hates himself for it. He wants to die, but he cares too much about Adam. That's the problem with falling for someone. You find yourself in situations that are a little challenging to pull yourself out of._

_But if he could, Tommy would just stop. He wishes he could stop cold turkey. But he just can't._

**The mind churns, the heart yearns, the tears dry without you**

Tommy sighs heavily, grabbing the needle again and plunging the tip into his vein. But he stops. He doesn't inject the drug into his blood just yet. He stares at the needle, sticking deep into his skin. It hurts a little bit, but all the same not really. It's more or less just a discomfort for Tommy and he holds it there for a long while. It's intriguing, to be honest, staring at the needle but not doing anything with it. For once, he thinks clear enough to choose. He could push the drugs into his body and ruin his life further. Or he can do something right and just set it down.

'_C'mon, Tommy. Just pull it out and toss it. You don't need it. Tell Adam, and he'll be understanding. He'll get help for you, he'll see you through to the end of this. Just…_' Tommy thinks to himself, shaking as he pulls the needle out from his arm, turning on the seat and shooting the drugs into the trash can. He'll take it out later. He sets the needle down on the sink again, pressing his face into his hands. This is going to be the worst.

"Tommy…" Tommy lifts his head and stares at the doorway. Adam's standing there, his eyes locked on the needle, before shifting to his arm, red with the puncture but clean of the drug. But Adam doesn't know that. He just sees everything, and Tommy sees the tears in Adam's eyes. He stands up and rushes over to Adam, who's backing away. He grabs his lover's arm, cupping his face in his other hand.

"N-no, Adam, stop, stop! Adam, baby, please, _please_…" Tommy is begging, tears streaming down his pale, sweaty face. His hands are trembling against Adam's arm, and the singer looks nothing short of flat out pissed. Pissed, frustrated, distraught… It's all the emotions Tommy doesn't want to see on his baby's face, but he knows he's at fault for this. He knows, even in the dizziness of his mind, he _knows_. Tommy gasps for air, choking back his sobs, trying to keep himself calm enough to make sense to his baby. _His_ baby. Baby Boy.

"_Please_ what, Tommy? What, do you want me to just stop and say 'it's okay' that you're shooting up again?" Again? Oh, God… no.

"Adam— I wasn't… I got rid of it, I didn't…" Tommy tries to tell Adam but his baby shoves him away, and Tommy's spine slams into the frame of the bathroom doorway. Ouch. Tears are rolling down Adam's tanned cheeks and his black hair is in a disarray from worry and many fingers running through it. Tommy's heart pounds and he's on the verge of weeping.

"I thought you were clean, Tommy! Monte told me you were doing fine!" Adam's screaming, and Tommy cowers away.

"I— I was for a long time and… I'm— Adam…" Tommy reaches out for Adam again, gripping the front of his shirt and blinking back tears. But Adam shoves him away again, deep in a rage.

"No! 'Was' doesn't cut it, Tommy!"

"Adam, please!"

"No. Get out, you're fired!" Tommy stops, staring wide eyed at Adam. No, no he can't mean that. He can't say that. Tommy is trying! If he can just tell Adam to look in the trash can, he can prove to Adam that he's trying. But when he looks up at Adam again, he sees a firm set in the older man's eyes. There's no proving anything to the singer.

"Adam, no… Baby, please, don't…"

"I said get out!" Adam screams, grabbing Tommy's shoulder and shoving him to the floor before storming into their bedroom and slamming the door shut. Tommy's shaking on the carpet and tears are streaming relentlessly down his face as he presses his cheek to the shag. His heart is aching and his body is cold. Get out. Get out. Get out. It's never going to leave him alone and now… Now his baby doesn't even want to give him a chance. His baby. His Baby Boy. Adam.

**Life goes on, but I'm gone cause I'd die without you**


End file.
